


Birds of a Feather

by kurgaya



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, POV Outsider, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9378206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurgaya/pseuds/kurgaya
Summary: Three times Iris catches her brother with his boyfriend - and his other boyfriend, and hisotherboyfriend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm such a sucker for this ship. Their dynamic gave me so many feels in this beautiful, agonising game T_T
> 
> [KM prompt:](http://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/841.html?thread=491337#cmt491337) Basically, the bros in a happy, healthy polyamorous quad relationship being observed from someone outside their group sharing some PDA with each other. It could be Cid, Cor, Iris, Aranea, Weskham - basically someone realizing exactly what kind of relationship they're in and their reaction to it.

 

(i).

In retrospect, Iris supposes she could have knocked a little louder. The training hall has only ever accommodated her brother and the Prince at this time of day - the Crownsguard respect their Prince’s privacy almost as much as they fear the swing of Gladio’s greatsword - and Iris has slipped inside to observe Gladio and the Prince sparring many times before. They are accustomed to paying her little attention - a wave for a greeting, a call of _hey twerp_ from her brother, and sometimes a groan of _Iris help me out here_ from Noctis should he be flattened into the floor - and Iris is content to tuck herself against a wall and watch them clobber brain cells out of each other. She does, occasionally, succumb to Noctis’ pleas and team up against her brother, and Gladio’s grumble of _traitor_ never fails to amuse Iris as she wraps up her hands and slips on her gloves.

Iris may not be a Sworn Shield, but she is an Amicitia. Pledged to the crown like her brother, father, and the generations of family that came before her, she has to be prepared for anything. One day, Noctis will be King and Iris will be proud to serve in the Crownsguard (in the _Kingsglaive_ , perhaps, should she harness Noctis’ magic with more competency than her brother). That day is such a long way off with the approaching treaty and the Prince’s marriage to the Lady Lunafreya of Tenebrae, but Iris certainly doesn’t wish for this war to continue. Things will be different with the Empire’s influence, but she is sure that the treaty will bring good things too. Perhaps her father will be home more. Perhaps the Prince will have reason to smile more.

She can only hope, and fight, and watch out for the Prince and her brother as they suck face against one of the training hall walls.

They almost, _almost_ don’t notice her. Iris would berate her brother’s observance were the words that fall out of her mouth not a gargling, voiceless mess. The door slams shut as she falls against it, the heels of her shoes and the crown of her head _crack-thumping_ against the wood. Gladio and Noctis leap apart, a single step launching Gladio a solid five, six, maybe _seven_ feet across the room. He may as well have warped for the speed in which he dives away from the Prince, and Iris would laugh were her mind not transfixed on how Noctis’ hands had been _up her brother’s shirt_.

“ _Astrals_ , I didn’t mean - I swear I knocked, I -”

The Prince is holding onto the wall to steady himself. Iris can’t be sure whose face is burning brighter; his is flushed a blotchy, tomato red and hers is on _fire_ , and she laughs a little hysterically as Noctis smothers his face into his hands. She can still see the scarlet tips of his ears though, and something she certainly hopes is a sparring bruise peeking out from under his collar.

“Iris,” Gladio says then, his rumbling voice oddly breathless as it catches on her name. Not daring to hope that he has pulled his shirt back down, Iris tears her eyes away from where the Prince is trying to melt into the wall to goggle at her brother, who freezes in an oddly endearing sort of manner at the look on her face. Whatever expression she is wearing, Iris doesn’t know, just as she doesn’t know how Gladio can look like an abashed schoolkid caught stealing from the biscuit tin when he is built like a boulder standing at a menacing six foot six.

“I can pretend I didn’t see anything,” Iris hastens to say, _beyond_ weirded out by her brother’s wide-eyed stare. Gladio has never had a problem with being affectionate with any of his partners before - in fact, Iris knows that her brother is a physically affectionate guy, which is both odd and kind of sweet to think about in the context of his girlfriends. She’s seen him kissing girls more times than she can count (he’s shameless and she’s hardly fazed anymore), so maybe it’s the fact that Noctis is _not a girl_ that has the Amicitia siblings tripping over themselves.

She hadn’t known that Gladio swung that way. She hadn’t known about Noctis either, but he’s the Prince of Lucis and will be married _to a woman_ by the end of the month, and Iris feels her head spinning at the political mess this could be.

No wonder Gladio hadn’t told her. _Astrals_ , she wonders if they’ve told anyone. She cannot say much for the King, but their father definitely wouldn’t approve of Gladio’s involvement with the Prince. An Amiticia’s duty is to be a shield between their King and his enemies, to stand proud and unwavering, and to lay down their life should without hesitation. Iris has no doubt that Gladio will continue to do all of these things, but she knows that the Council would disapprove of Noctis’ _favouritism_ and her brother’s _inappropriate affections_.

Still. Iris is neither her father nor the Council, and while she is a little hurt that Gladio hadn’t confided in her, she is mostly frustrated at herself for missing _every single one of the clues_.

Noctis is practically family. She sees him more than she sees her father. How had she missed this?

“Oh my goodness,” she gasps, the last of her embarrassment receding. The same cannot be said for Noctis, who is still trying to become one with the wall, but Gladio, at least, reacts to her giddy laugh with something pertaining to his usual collected self. “Prompto and Ignis _have_ to know, right? There’s no way you hid this from them if you can’t even remember to lock a door -”

Gladio grumbles something, tense mortification relaxing into a firm yet notably relieved look, but it’s Noctis who eventually interrupts her gleeful ramblings.

“Yeah, look - they err - they know, all right?” he admits, and there is something peculiar about the way he says it, his mouth twitching as though this is one big inside joke. But then the moment passes, and Noctis sighs. “But they’re the only ones that know, yeah? So if you could - could not -”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Iris says; Prince or not, duty or not, Noctis is her friend and Gladio is her dumb older brother, and she’ll never breathe a word. “Promise.”

Noctis nods, muttering his thanks. Gladio holds his arms out for a hug, but he’s sweaty and smelly and Iris turns up her nose.

Gladio just rolls his eyes. “Two-on-one spar then?” he suggests instead, and Iris laughs at Noctis’ drawn out whine.

 

 

 

(ii).

Insomnia falls. Iris is watching the livestream of the treaty signing on TV, wishing that she was old enough to attend this historic moment alongside her father, when the Empire rears its traitorous head and opens fire in the conference hall. Jared, the Amicitia family butler, throws himself across the room when she begins to scream, teacups of fine china shattering as explosions rock the streets of the city. On the TV, councilmen and women try to flee as the Crownsguard rush to protect the King, and Iris feels sick at the thought of her father as Jared drags her from the sofa, calling desperately to the cries of his grandson.

Imperial troops storm into the streets, weapon-fire and explosions marking their bloody invasion to the citadel. Jared ushers Iris and Talcott into the fleeing masses, and it is all Iris can do to keep a hold of his hand as they run and they run and they run.

Weeks pass before they find refuge in the town of Lestallum. Iris has cried so much that she doesn’t think she can cry anymore, but then she finally manages to reach her brother and sobs down the phone in the hotel room. She’s relieved that he’s okay, that all four of them are okay, and Gladio promises that they’ll be at Lestallum as soon as they can, a vow which the Prince and his friends solemnly echo.

“ _Just sit tight kiddo, we’ll come find ya_ ,” Gladio says, and Iris nods although he cannot see it, sniffing away the last of her tears.

“ _I would recommend a cup of valerian tea for your nerves_ ,” Ignis suggests from down the phone, so Iris agrees and promises to find some before wondering if he had been speaking solely to her at all.

“ _We’ll steal you a chocobo_!” is Prompto’s cheery contribution, which encourages weary laughter from both ends of the line.

“ _You’re only saying that because you want one_ ,” Noctis says.

Prompto laughs. “ _Of course not! Whyever would you think that?_ ”

True to their word, the Prince’s company arrive at Lestallum just a few days later. They look a little worse for wear as they tumble out of the dented body of the Regalia, but their faces light up as she leaps on them, hugging each of them in turn. Noctis first, well-versed in accepting his fate at Iris’ hands. Even Ignis doesn’t escape, though Iris knows he isn’t much of a touchy-feely guy. Prompto, on the other hand, is like the little brother that Iris always wanted, and their hug is more of a collision that sends them flying over the bonnet of the Regalia. Gladio is last, but that’s only because Iris knows how this hug will go.

“ _Thank the Glacian_ ,” he curses, sweeping her right off her feet and squashing her close. “I was so fucking scared.”

“Me too, me too,” Iris babbles, clutching his shoulders and never wanting to let go.

Come morning, when everyone is well-fed and showered (well- _rested_ is debatable; Iris doesn’t think she’s the only one having nightmares), Noctis admits to have never having visited Lestallum before. Iris volunteers to give him a tour, eager to cheer up the Prince in any way that she can. The loss of her father and home hangs heavy over her, but she can only imagine how Noctis must feel knowing that his _kingdom_ has been all but destroyed. Those are sad thoughts however, and Iris knows better than to bring them up, so she grabs Noctis by the hand and drags him into the town.

They bump into Gladio outside the Leville hotel, but he begs off the tour in favour of investigating the local bounties. He and Noctis bicker and grouse good-naturedly at each other for a few minutes, discussing lunch (they’ve just had _breakfast_ ) and the whereabouts of Ignis and Prompto. Ignis has hit the markets to replenish their supplies, apparently, and Prompto is who-knows-where ( _probably sneaking back to the chocobos_ , Gladio laughs). They seem to forget about Iris for a moment - or maybe it’s the opposite, that they remember that she is aware of their relationship, that she is someone they can be comfortable around - but she doesn’t really mind. It’s only been a few months since that embarrassing encounter in the training hall, but Gladio and Noctis are still stupidly sweet (and just straight up stupid) around each other, and Iris is glad that they’ve got one another as their lives crumble down around them.

“All right, get lost,” Gladio says, shoving at Noctis to scuttle. “But don’t you go getting my sister into trouble.”

Noctis swats him away, arguing just for the sake of it. Iris rolls her eyes and rocks back onto her heels, a little impatient now but holding her tongue, and Gladio tells the Prince to get a move on. They don’t kiss - not here, not in the middle of town - but their hands touch just briefly, shoulders together, wrist against wrist and fingers tracing hands, and it’s so ridiculously adoring that Iris has to smother a smile.

Astrals, her brother’s a romantic twit.

The tour consumes the morning at a lazy pace. There isn’t much to see in Lestallum, the town tiny in comparison to Insomnia, but Iris tries to make the most of it. Noctis, at any least, doesn’t show a single sign of boredom as they wander the high street and through the market stalls, but she has always found it hard to read him. Still, he thanks her for the gigantic moodle plush and carries it around without complaint, although Iris is sure she saw him gawking in horror at being associated with something so cute and squishy.

She isn’t ashamed to have a laugh at his expense.

Neither is Prompto, who they run into towards the end of the tour. He is less considerate about it though, doubling over with laughter right there in the middle of the market, and Noctis’ face lights up to match the pom-pom atop the moogle’s head.

“Oh man, Noct, you gotta let me take a picture!”

Noctis definitely has _things to say_ about that idea. “Hell no.”

Prompto whines. “Aww, come on! What if we’re both in the picture? I’ll even hold it! Here, Iris, you can take the picture.”

He doesn’t give either of them a choice over the matter, and Noctis accepts the compromise with a grumble. Iris has only held Prompto’s beloved camera a few times, let alone _use it_ , so it takes a brief crash-course and a few fumbling minutes to figure out how to work it. Satisfied that she knows her stuff, Prompto wraps an arm around the Prince’s shoulders and then secures the moogle (not, that is, that Noctis particularly wrestles for possession), and Iris snaps a photo before Noctis can squirm away.

“One more, one more!” Prompto pleads, gesturing frantically at Iris to continue. He shifts the moogle plush in his arms, laughing as the pom-pom bumps between him and Noctis, and Iris lifts the camera again, holding it steady as she adjusts the lens before -

Prompto plants a kiss into Noctis’ cheek, laughing at the Prince’s squawk.

“Ah, sorry, sorry!” cries the gunner, looking nothing of the sort as Noctis turns to stare at him, their noses but centimetres away as Prompto laughs and laughs, smattering of freckles fading into the merry rose of his blush. Noctis mutters something and elbows his friend in the side, but Iris doesn’t think it’s a reprimand as they hold the stare for a second longer before sharing a laugh.

The moogle is forgotten between them. They’ve even forgotten Iris, standing there with the camera and a godsmacked expression.

She snaps the photo.

“Aww, hey we weren’t ready!” Prompto complains, pouting a truly phenomenal pout. “Give us a countdown next - hey it’s Gladio! D’you think he’ll like the moogle? HEY GLADIO.”

Iris doesn’t even _think_ before deleting the second photo, and as her brother approaches with his clunky gait and starts a full-bellied laugh at the sight of Prompto and Noctis with the moogle, a freezing sense of dread pours down Iris’ spine. She knows what she saw and she knows what it _means_ , but as Gladio laughs at the soft toy and Prompto tries desperately to shove it into Noctis’ hands, Iris can only stand there immobilised with uncertainty, palms sweaty against Prompto’s camera, her tongue dried up in her mouth.

“Seriously, pipe down,” Gladio is saying when she tunes back in, arms crossed over his chest. Nobody seems to have noticed Iris’ dilemma, not even Gladio as he glowers at Prompto and Noctis. “We’re in the middle of town.”

The hand at Noctis’ shoulder waves his concern away. “Relax,” Prompto reassures, challenging the sun with his smile. “No one here knows us.”

“They will if you keep shouting my name from the rooftops.”

Prompto thinks about it. “I could stick with _big guy_?”

“Oh yeah, because _that_ won’t cause offence,” Noctis drawls, levelling them both with exasperation. He pushes the moogle’s pom-pom away from his face, patience drawing thin, but Iris notes that he doesn’t shake Prompto off as well.

Gladio shrugs, smiling easily. “Hey, I ain’t bothered by it.”

“That’s cause you know it’s _true_ ,” Prompto teases, stressing the final word before winking - _winking!_ \- at him.

Gladio coughs. Iris’ jaw hits the floor. Ifrit on a _stick_ , her brother is _blushing_!

“What was that about shouting from the rooftops?” Noctis says, somehow managing not to laugh.

“Hey, I haven’t shouted _anything_ ,” Prompto argues, laughing as he drops his voice to add, “ _Y_ _et_.”

Iris - is going to pretend she didn’t hear that. She's also going to pretend that Prompto and her brother aren’t blatantly _flirting_ when Noctis is standing _right there_ , in the middle of them, his attention already drifting from the banter to survey the bustle of the market behind them. In fact, she just wants to forget that this calamity of a morning hasn’t happened. All she’d wanted was to cheer Noctis up, and everything had been going _so well_ until Prompto had dived in and - and what?

 _Kissed her brother’s boyfriend_? Kissed his _own_ boyfriend? Are Gladio and Noctis not attached anymore? Are Noctis and _Prompto_ attached? But what about what Iris had seen outside the Leville? What about Prompto and Gladio _flirting_?

What about Ignis? Was she even going to bring Ignis into this?

No, she decides, best not to bring Ignis into this until she is sure of what she’s seeing. Before this morning, she had been assured in her brother’s relationship with Noctis, but now Iris is beginning to wonder if she’s been labelling it wrong all this time. Granted, she and Gladio have never actually _talked_ about what she walked into that day in the training room.

Iris isn’t sure what to think, but there is one thing she is sure of.

Watching the three of them now, just metres from the market and yet inhabiting a space that only they seem to share, Noctis hugged between Prompto’s boisterous animation and Gladio’s steady guard, the ridiculous moogle plush squashed in someone’s arms, Iris feels like she has walked in on them snogging all over again.

They look happy.

Maybe - maybe it’s best not to question it.

 

 

 

(iii).

“Granted, it may be a tight squeeze in the backseat, but I fail to see why we couldn’t offer our services,” Ignis reasons, distracted briefly from his recipe book by the conversation taking place. The Leville has been a recurring respite as they journey between the treacherous corners of Lucis in search of the Royal Arms, but this may well be their final night in relative luxury - for them and Iris both.

She hopes Cape Caem will be a safe place. It’s about as far from Lestallum that she can bare to take Talcott while appeasing her duty as an Amicitia and remaining accessible to the needs of the Prince. They will be departing for Altissia soon - Noctis, Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto - and Iris has no doubt that she won’t be joining them. Instead, she will have to remain behind and worry as she waits for them to return - but they will return, of this Iris is sure, and when they do she will be here to welcome them home.

No matter how long it takes.

“It’s not like _you’ll_ be in the back,” Prompto teases, elbowing the advisor with a cheeky grin.

Ignis’ glare could tame the Six, but Prompto isn’t fazed. “Naturally,” Ignis agrees, unwavering in the face of the bait. There is a smile in his voice, however, and an amused glint in his eyes. It catches on his glasses as he adjusts them, levelling Prompto with a pointed, “And neither will you, I might add.”

“Ahh, shotgun privileges,” the gunner agrees, folding his arms up behind his head. Although they seem an unlikely duo to tease the Prince, both so dedicated to Noctis in their individual ways (and Gladio simply fair game), Prompto shares a laugh with Ignis at the others’ expense. Noctis doesn’t appear to mind, and even Gladio’s glower cannot mask his fondness.

“Yeah, all right, rub it in why don’t you,” he grouses, leading Iris to wonder just how the seating arrangement in the Regalia is assigned. Thinking back to all of the times she has seen the party come and go, Ignis was driving more often than not, with Noctis occasionally at the wheel. She doesn’t know about Prompto, but her brother has a licence.

“We’d have more room in the back if Gladdy was driving,” she suggests.

Gladio’s affronted _oi!_ she expected, but the vehement resounding of _NO!_ from the others is something of a surprise.

“Never again,” Noctis says, his despair barely audible over Prompto’s choked cry of _the pizza boxes!_ _Oh god the pizza!_ as the gunner buries his face into his hands.

“Our continued survival would be ideal,” Ignis agrees, speaking gently despite that verbal punch in the face. Beside him, Prompto begins to wheeze intelligibly, prompting Noctis to reach over and smooth down a tuff of his chocobo-hair.

“Hey, it was _one time_ ,” Gladio insists, looking torn between laughing and cursing his friends. He crosses his arms defensively, the scar across his forehead pinching as his glower is met with three incredulous stares.

“Gladio we almost _died_ -”

“We did not insist upon that written agreement lightly -”

“The spiracorns!” Prompto wails over them all. “ _Do you remember the spiracorns._ ”

“Yes, I _remember the goddamn spiracorns_ -”

The hotel suite dissolves into a laughing calamity. Iris isn’t going to pretend to understand what they’re talking about - personally, she’d been under the impression that her brother was a good driver (she had never felt unsafe on the back of his motorbike, for instance) - but maybe cars are more complicated. It probably also doesn’t help to have Prompto and Noctis in the car (Ignis is, of course, The Sensible One), but Iris’ confusion must be plain, for Noctis tunes out of the argument long enough to kindly summarise:

“Once was enough.”

Iris smiles, rather imagining it to be so. Truthfully, she hadn’t intended to reduce her brother to the butt of a joke, but that doesn’t stop her from revelling in how _easy_ it is. She had only been making a valid point - it’s not exactly a secret that Gladio is built like bear - but she laughs along to Prompto’s fractured explanation as to why Gladio isn’t allowed to drive, _like, ever again Iris, never ever EVER again_.

“Iggy’s got a mother-hen complex over that car anyway,” Gladio says, only daring to mutter it when Ignis disappears into the pantry to put on the kettle. Naively, he assumes that Noctis will respect this piece of information as a _secret_ right up until the Prince whirls to the door through which Ignis has left and bellows:

“HEY SPECS, GLADIO JUST SAID -”

Gladio _slam-dunks_ Noctis onto the floor. “NOCT, YOU PIECE OF -”

“If His Highness and his Sworn Shield would cease this childish display,” Ignis calls from the next room, leaving the end of the threat hanging in the air. The kettle whistles behind him like a warning; teacups and spoons clatter like a countdown.

“He deserved it,” Gladio grumbles, backing off like a beaten puppy as Ignis returns with a teapot.

“Noctis is the Prince and thus never deserves to be manhandled in such a way.”

“Not even when he doesn’t eat his vegetables?” Gladio argues, sounding unconvinced.

Ignis inclines his head, conceding to Gladio’s shit-eating grin. “Debatable.”

Gladio laughs victorious. “Knew you only loved me for my body.”

Prompto whistles low. Ignis clears his throat, notably flushed, although that may be due to the rising steam rather than the flirtatious atmosphere that’s just eased its way into the conversation. “Well, I’m certainly not partial to your driving competency,” he says without missing a beat, prompting Noctis to cluck once from the floor.

Gladio barely - _just barely_ \- refrains from kicking him.

Ever-dutiful, Ignis passes around the teacups despite the round of snickering laughter. There’s a cup for Iris too, although that may only be because there _isn’t_ one for Prompto, who runs on fizzy drinks and little else, and this makes her wonder if she has once again achieved invisibility despite sitting in the centre of the room.

“Hey Gladdy,” Iris interrupts, sparing one, final moment to watch the four men move and laugh and work in tandem with each other before kicking the undetonated bomb. (It had already been dropped days and weeks or maybe even months ago, but it’s only now that Iris can see exactly where it fell). “Are you all in a relationship?”

Never before has she seen all four of them, the Prince and his personal guard, daemon-slayers and world-savers in their own rights, look so thunderstruck by a single question.

“Err,” Prompto begins, his awed stare sliding from Iris to Gladio. “Didn’t she already know that?”

Noctis turns as well. Ignis raises a single eyebrow and it’s frankly one of the most terrifying things Iris has ever seen. She’s glad she’s not her brother right now, who says nothing, an ineloquent and yet all-encompassing answer.

Nobody says it, but a sigh of _Gladio you idiot!_ sits heavy in the room.

Iris supposes she should probably take pity. “It’s okay, I know why you didn’t say anything about you and Noctis. It’s because he’s the Prince, right, and he’s getting married to Lady Lunafreya soon? So it’s not like it changes with all four of you.”

They exchange glances, all four of them like deadly, flabbergast mice.

“There - is a little bit more to it than that,” Ignis amends. He is frozen half-way through pouring the teapot so Iris reaches out to straighten it. Somebody jumps as though she strikes like a viper, and the table jerks as a knee _clunks_ against the underside.

“I dunno, she’s nailed the biggest two reasons. Sorry for not saying anything, Iris. I guess we all thought you knew,” Noctis says with a shrug, far more relaxed about it than that mortifying day back in Insomnia, that’s for sure. Perhaps Iris walking in one him and her brother snogging had been embarrassing enough for a lifetime - she knows it was for her.

Iris smiles. “It’s okay, I think I worked it out when you visited for the first time anyway.”

“Oh,” is Prompto’s contributing squeak, his ears tinging pink as he remembers. “Was that because I -?”

“Yeah. I thought - I thought Noctis was, you know. But then Gladdy didn’t seem to mind - and you guys were flirting - and you kind of seemed to forget that I was there and I didn’t know what to say.”

“You thought we were cheating?” Noctis guesses, the only one to keep a straight face at the suggestion. Iris nods, unable to say the word herself, and there’s a groan of _Astrals help us_ from Gladio to which Ignis offers his assent.

“Huh,” Noctis says. “Maybe we should’ve seen that coming.”

“I’m sorry,” Iris offers helplessly.

“There is no need for you to apologise,” Ignis reassures, finally remembering that he is supposed to be pouring the drinks. “It was our responsibility to be discreet.”

“So much for that then,” Prompto laughs, scratching his cheek. “My bad.”

“But you’re cool with it kiddo?” Gladio asks, interrupting the inevitable discussion as to whose fault it was. He has stepped closer to her in the meantime, with a silence that still amazes Iris despite his colossal size. He really is less of a guard dog and more of an oversized puppy, and Iris smiles to reassure him, grinning brilliantly and wide.

“Only _Shiva_ could be cooler.”

Gladio laughs louder than them all as he ruffles her hair. “We’ll let you know once we meet ‘er,” he promises, and the relief in his voice persuades Iris not to complain as he ruins her hair.

“Not if she turns us into popsicles,” Prompto argues, ever the optimist.

“Hey, that’s probably gonna happen,” Noctis decides. He dumps four - _four!_ \- lumps of sugar into his drink, and nobody so much as bats an eyelash as he kicks his feet up onto the coffee-table.

Iris would say something about _royal privileges_ , but as she accepts her own drink and sits back to watch Prompto puppy-dog-eye at Ignis for a soda so that the adviser’s back is turned just long enough for Gladio to shove his drink in Prompto’s direction and then, with a _don’t tell Iggy_ and a smothered laugh from Noctis, encourage the hyperactive gunner to down the entire thing like a shot, Iris thinks the others just love Noctis - and each other - too much to argue.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not saying the boys drink coffee from a teapot but they totally drink coffee from a teapot :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave a review as you go~


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